Archive of Our Own ^beta

Enver had never liked the cold of winter. Not just, because he preferred warmth, but also, because his bones most certainly detested the wet cold that came with those months. But as once more the winter was ending and the snow outside was starting to melt, he found himself reminded that what his joints detested even more, was a sudden change in the weather.

The pain had been especially bad for the last two days. He was barely able to walk without help, as his joints were painful in each movement. So he guessed once more, that it was in fact a good thing that he would never have to leave his home ever again. And with Lash being not here for the last half tenday, there was not even anyone, who tried to convince him to leave his bed.

There was no use in it either way. He was under house arrest, until he would eventually die one day. And all of it because the stupid hero, who would still bother him from time to time, had not had the guts to kill him. A fucking idealistic bastard.

Enver found himself wondering quite often what it would feel like to die. To just not have to wake up again. In theory it sounded strangely soothing. Though he knew the truth of course: his existence would not end in death. He would continue living. And Bane was waiting for his soul. Bane, who was angry, that their glorious scheme had failed.

It did not matter either way, though.

There was nothing to be done about it. Enver knew the fate of his soul would be to eventually end up either with Bane or in the hells, so all of this – lying in his bed here – was just attempting to postpone the inevitable. He would die. Eventually he would die. He was only a human. A sickly human at that, who probably would not do more than another twenty years at best.

But it did not matter.

His life did not matter. He had been given once chance, and in the end he had failed.

He had been cursed from the beginning.

He was vaguely aware that he was hungry. He had not eaten since the day before. Because Lash was not here, and the other two still working for him were not like her. They would do their duty, but nothing more. They were not annoying like Lash. Which was good.

Enver did not like to eat either way. The mere thought of having mushy food in his mouth filled him with disgust. Hunger was a feeling that was somewhat easier to bear. He knew hunger after all, and he had learned to ignore it.

A thin line of sunshine was making its way through the gap in the curtains. It had to be already around noon.

He wished he could just sleep. Sleep away the whole day. But sleep was as elusive as ever. But he had not managed to read in quite some time – his mind would not focus on the letters in the book, and at the moment the joints in his hands would grow stiff when holding the book for too long.

So… Well, it did not matter. Nothing mattered.

He could die here and now, and it would not matter. Some people might even celebrate his death. After all, by now most people were quite aware of the role he had played in the fate of the city. And oh, he could only imagine how many of them were wanting him dead.

Ravengard included. Enver was fairly certain of it.

Some days he was wondering, if he should just do them the favor. It could not be that hard. There should be ways for him to acquire the right poison. He knew he would use poison. It seemed to be the most peaceful way to go. A poisoned concoction and then he would slowly stop breathing.

But in the end… Maybe he was too much of a coward.

His thoughts were spiraling around this issue once more, as he was lying there. The vision in front of his eyes was blurring, while he imagined the cold grip of death.

Only when he heard foot steps on the corridor outside was he shaken from his thoughts.

Who was it? Who could it be?

A knock on his door followed a moment later.

He did not reply anything, but this just made the knock happen again. “Gortash?” a voice asked carefully.

Fuck. He knew that voice. Of course he knew it. And really, it belonged to the last person he wanted to see today – or ever for that matter. Fucking Avariel, the stupid hero, who had not the guts to finish what he started.

“Leave me alone, Avariel,” he grunted.

He wondered, why he even tried. He had told the asshole so many times that he did not want to see him. He had stabbed the man, for hells’ sake, and yet that idiot just would not get the message. He would come here, at least once every tenday, to just… what? Mock him. It was the only thing Enver could think off. The asshole was here to mock him.

And just like those many other times he had told the man to go, Avariel once more ignored those words. He opened the door, taking two steps into the room only to stop.

“Wow.” He sniffed. “You know, some fresh air would not kill you.”

“Too bad,” Enver snarled.

Darn it all. He would do a lot of things just to make sure to never have to see that idiot bard ever again. The idiot bard, who bore at least part of the responsibility of their glorious plan failing. The absolute brainless moron, who still somehow had outmaneuvered them all, because… Enver still could not make sense of it. Maybe because the stupid gods had involved themselves or some similar shit.

Avariel sighed and went over to one of the two windows of the room. He opened the curtains and then the window, letting fresh air inside. “I know Lash is not here right now, but you should not stay in bed all day.”

“I do not see how that concerns you,” Enver growled.

“It is just…” Avariel paused, looking at him. “Look, I can see that it probably feels pretty pointless to get out of bed, given your general situation, but just staying here will not improve anything either.”

“Nobody asked for your fucking opinion, Avariel.”

“I know,” Avariel said.

How much Enver hated this. To not only be forced into this situation, but to be seen like this by him – his enemy – like this. As a loser. As helpless. With no dignity left at all.

“I don’t get why you keep doing this,” Enver spat.

“And I will answer the same thing like every other time,” Avariel said. “I do not want you any harm. I get you had a shitty life so far, and I just… Look, I really do not want to harm you.”

“Sure…” Enver sat up, barely keeping down a pained groan at the movement and unable to contain a grimace at this.

“Is it the pain again?” Avariel asked.

“That is of no concern to you.”

The man ignored this. He thought. “Should I make you some tea against it? That has always helped, right?”

“Why do you keep ignoring what I say? I do not want you here. And I do not want your help!”

“Because no matter whether you want it or not, you need someone’s help.” Avariel put on this stupid smile of his again. A soft smile, that was almost convincing. It would have fooled everyone, probably, thought it could not fool Enver. He knew people like this. People who acted as if they were oh so good, but in fact were just other assholes.

He would not fall for it.

“I do not need help,” he muttered.

“You are in pain, and you are clearly miserable. It is obvious you have not washed for days, and I am suspecting, you have not eaten for at least a full day either.”

“And none of this is your concern,” Enver hissed.

“Maybe it isn’t,” Avariel admitted. “But I also cannot help my nature. I do want to help you.”

“And I don’t want your help.”

“Then what do you want, Gortash? What is it, that you actually want? Other than ruling the city as a tyrant that is?”

“Well, it turns out that last thing is exactly what I want.”

Avariel shrugged. “I still don’t believe it.”

“I don’t fucking care what you believe, Avariel. All I care about right now is that you leave me alone.”

The man stood there by the end of Enver’s bed. He sighed again, and pursed his lips. “I will make some tea, and something for you to eat.” With that he turned around and left the room.

Enver hated him. He hated this fucking asshole. Heroes were all idiots. Of course they were. If they were not idiots, they would not be heroes, after all. Nobody who was not some sort of idiot would go out there risking their lives for others. But Avariel was the worst kind of them. Others were at least so honest to admit, that they were heroes to get riches, popularity, and influence. But this asshole would not even admit it. He was a lying bastard, and still everyone seemed to fall for it.

Enver was quite aware how taken many people were by that guy, who yet had somehow managed to keep his name out of the entire story. The story about the heroes that had saved the city, that was. Oh yeah, because that was how the story now went. There had been an evil plot to try to take the city over with the help of illithids – and that plot had been stopped by those noble, selfless heroes.

What a lot of bullshit.

Enver laid down again. He hated how his life had turned out once more. Because it seemed he had been cursed at birth. Cursed with a weak and sickly body. Cursed to have all his plans eventually go bad.

He was a bastard himself. He knew he was. In some way at least. He knew his parents had despised him from the very start. Otherwise they would not have fucking sold him to Raphael. And Raphael, too. He had been… Well, he had been a devil, so Enver guessed nothing that had happened to him in the hells had been unexpected, had it now?

Maybe the fact that despite everything he was still alive was part of this curse. He had had the coughs fairly badly two times as a child, and his parents had not been able to afford a magical cure. Somehow he had still survived, despite being miserable over it for months. He had been in the hells for twelve fucking years, and still somehow had made his way out alive. And now, even after being stopped… Somehow he was still among the living.

It was unfair, wasn’t it? He got to live, despite knowing fully well, that nobody would ever mourn him. He had killed so many – and even more had died and an indirect result of his actions. Many of whom had families to mourn them. And yet, he was not mourned and he was alive, even though most people would agree it would be better if he died.

It should make him giddy to know this. No matter how many people had wanted him dead, he was still living. And yet, the thought only filled him with bitterness.

Life was a curse, not a blessing. Even if he could have it just out of spite. It still did not feel very good, when the only life one had known was one of pain.

For the hells’ sake. His joints were feeling so miserable. Even his muscles were sore, despite him not even having moved around a lot during the last days.

He hated this body. He hated this life.

But he was still too much of a coward to die…

It was a good while, until he heard Avariel’s steps on the stairs once more. This time around the man did not even knock – though probably because he was carrying a tray with a plate, a jug and a mug.

“I made pancakes,” the man announced, with a smirk. “With some apples.” He put the tray onto the nightstand, making Enver grimace.

The aforementioned pancakes were quite dark. “You said you were not a good cook.”

“I am not,” the idiot said. “But I tasted one of them. They are not as bad as they look.”

Worst of all was, that Enver’s stomach once more betrayed him. It rumbled, as he smelled the food. While it smelled lightly burned, there was also the smell of lightly caramelized apple. And yeah, it actually smelled fairly good.

Darn it. He still hated food.

He poured some of the tea into the mug. If only Avariel had the decency to poison him, but Enver had long given up on that hope.

He hated the bitter and lightly cutting flavor of the tea, but he knew that it would at least lessen the pain a little. It would not make it go away, but at least make it more bearable.

Avariel sat down on a chair on the other side of the room, watching Enver, as he sat up properly. If only that darn man would go away. If only that idiot would leave him alone.

Still, despite hating everything about it, Enver started to eat. There was some cinnamon on the pancakes, and admittedly… It did not taste that bad, despite the burned bits. Enver had had better pancakes in the past, but he also remembered far worse than this.

Again and again his gaze shot over to Avariel. He hated how well the man was acting. His gaze was quite soft, and friendly. The entire time.

Fucking asshole.

And still, Enver’s body kept asking for more food, making him wolf down the entire stack of pancakes. He was trembling as he was.

When he had finished, he drank another cup of the darn tea. He could slowly feel his pain lessen – at least by a bit. He grimaced, when the bitter liquid hit his tongue.

Avariel smiled. “Are you feeling better?”

“I would feel a whole lot better, if you’d just fucking leave me alone.”

Another sigh came over the man’s lips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Will me saying ‘no’ stop you?”

The paused, but then seemingly decided that was good enough: “Do you really think that I am here to make fun of you or to mock you?”

“I don’t fucking care, Avariel. I don’t care why you are here. I just know I would be willing to kill quite a lot of people to never have to see you again.”

Again the man was silent for a while. He evaded Enver’s gaze for a moment. “I am sorry, you know?”

“What?”

“I… I know that in your mind I am responsible for you not having all that what you wanted. And I guess in some way I am. And I am sorry for that. I just… I think somehow you do understand, that what you were doing was wrong. I understand you wanting power. I understand it. But killing people? Enslaving them?”

“What does it concern you?” Enver grunted. “Why get involved with it at all?”

“Because I did not want to grow tentacles,” Avariel said.

Ah, Enver had almost forgotten about that part.

“But even without it, I would have probably done something,” Avariel muttered. “Because… I just cannot let people die.”

“Because you are such a bleeding-heart hero?” Enver mocked.

The man just shrugged. “Yes, I guess I am.” Then he looked at Enver. “How is your pain?”

“Why do you care?”

“I just do,” Avariel said.

“It is not going to get better anytime soon,” Enver mutter.

“Is there anything that would help?”

“Maybe you going,” Enver said.

Avariel looked at him. “What about a bath?”

“What?”

“Hot baths helps a lot of people with muscle and joint pain, right? Would it help?”

“Why do you care?”

“I could fetch some water,” Avariel said. “And I can heat it. Not a problem.”

Enver looked at the man. Avariel should by now be aware both of the size and the location of his bathtub. And that idiot was still going to… He almost felt like laughing. Because for fuck’s sake, he could not figure that asshole out. He knew, that the smile on his face now was rather ugly. “You know what? Why not?”

This was once more met with a wide smile by the man. “Alright.” With that he once more left Enver alone.

Worst of all: Enver knew that in one regard, the asshole was right. He needed help. Right now, he needed help. Not just because of the pain and his other issues, but because he was forbidden from leaving his home. So literally, even with all the money he still held, even with his stupid meaningless title… He would starve, if no one was there to take care of those things.

He knew he was mainly dependent on Lash. And he hated to know that this was the truth.

For this short moment, he had been so powerful. He had been so close to rule this forsaken city – only for it all to go wrong in the end. Only for his plan to fail. Because of Orin. Because of Avariel. Because the of the gods maybe.

He had become the Archduke. All had worked so very well… until it suddenly had not.

And he just could not figure out why. Would he have failed, too, if it had not been for Orin killing the Dark Urge? Would they have failed, had it not happened that those fucking assholes had ended up with the tadpoles? Where had they… No, where had he gone wrong?

It had been more than half a year since they had failed. And he still was trying to figure the same thing out.

Avariel was an idiot. He was literally dumb. And yet, somehow that dumb idiot had managed to outwit him. It didn’t make sense.

Enver had been deserving of it. Of ruling the darn city. Of ruling over all those stupid fucking people, who would have willing let him die in a ditch. And yet, it seemed that the universe disagreed. Because this was never how those stories ended, was it?

He was vaguely aware of Avariel’s steps. That idiot really was carrying water. He really was running outside to fetch water and carrying it up to the bath. And it still did not make sense to Enver. He had been quite willing to humiliate himself in some ways to make his plan work. But for fuck’s sake, what was this guy’s end goal?

Because hells, Enver would pay the asshole just to be left alone.

With a sigh, Enver moved his legs out of the bed. By now the tea’s effect of numbing the pain had started to take hold. His movement still felt stiff, but at least the pain was bearable. He sighed.

He knew, that indeed he should wash. Even though he was well capable of ignoring it, he knew that he smelled. He knew that his beard was in terrible condition. And he knew that his hair needed to be washed. He just hated that it was Avariel who prepared the bath. He hated too that he was being made to do it.

He hated as well, that he barely had any clothes left he could wear. Nothing fit anymore, as despite not eating for days, he somehow had grown fat. But he guessed that did not matter either, given nobody but Avariel, Ravengard, his three remaining staff, and the Flaming Fist standing guard at his home, were ever going to see him again.

Eventually Avariel appeared at the door again. “Well, the bath is ready.” He was clearly sweating, despite the still chilly weather. But Enver guessed the man had been up and down the stairs at least fifteen times, so maybe it was not that much of a surprise.

He still grimaced, as he got his cane to get up. “Wonderful,” he muttered sardonically. Even with the pain somewhat controlled, he needed his cane to properly move.

Avariel watched him make his way over to the door, before offering: “Do you need help?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Enver hissed.

For a moment it looked almost as if the man was going to say something, but in the end he didn’t. He still followed Enver slowly, as he hobbled his way over to the bath.

Indeed he found the bathtub filled and steaming. Avariel had managed to heat the water possible – but then again, the man was capable of using magic to some degree. Enver had seen him do it before. It should not really be a surprise.

The man had clearly found the bath oils, too, as the water was smelling of an earthy herbal mixture.

Now Avariel was standing in the door, watching him. Had Enver not been so annoyed he might have mocked the man, for behaving just like a proper servant. But right now, he mostly found it uncanny. Because he still could not figure out why the man would do that. Why would he humiliate himself like this?

He scrunched up his nose. “I do not need your help bathing, Avariel.”

“Are you sure?” Avariel asked. “I mean…”

“I am sure,” Enver said, before the man could continue.

It got him another sigh. “Alright. You can call me, if you need help. But I guess… I will put on new bed linens for you.”

“Do whatever you want,” Enver grumbled.

He still did not understand it, though.

Darn it. He wished Lash was here. While he hated how the young women would be doting over him like a mother hen, her help was somewhat appreciated. Especially on days, on which the pain was bad like today.

He still managed to get out of clothes somehow. Simple wide clothes he had been wearing to sleep in – though given he had been wearing them for three days, the sweat had discolored them just a bit. He did not care though.

With a grunt, he climbed into the bathtub. Like so often, he found himself sighing with relief, though, once he was in the hot water. It made his body feel just bit less stiff, made the pain easier to bear.

He allowed himself to sink further into the water. He had a fairly large tub after all.

For a while he just sat there. Actually it was almost closer to lying. He closed his eyes, just seeping in the warmth. It was a good feeling – even though he hated to admit it. He hated to feel good because of Avariel. And yet, this was where they had ended up it seemed.

He wished he could just remain in the warm water forever. Oh, he really wished it. Just enjoy the warmth.

But sadly he knew quite well, that the water would eventually cool off. He could feel it after a while, how instead of being nice and hot, it was just quite warm. And eventually it would get colder.

He could still sit here. But he knew it would not be comfortable.

So in the end, he forced himself to dunk his head into the water, to properly get washed. While he did not see the sense in it, he knew in some way that it was needed. He still had some of those expensive soaps, and while his muscles screamed against the movement, he somewhat managed to wash himself.

Again he was grunting, as he climbed out of the tub. While the stiffness had gotten better, it was still somewhat there. He grabbed a towel, before sitting down on the low stool next to the tub.

Why did he even bother?

No matter, what Avariel said – and no matter what Lash would say. It did not matter how “presentable” he was either way. Because nobody would ever see him but those two, the Fists and Ravengard. And Ravengard already loathed him. Ravengard already thought of him as barely more than a thing he would love to eradicate. Enver knew that.

So why even bother with any of this?

He had forgotten to get himself fresh clothes, too. Because normally that was something his staff would take care off. For fucks sake. He did not want to run around like this with Avariel around, even though he guessed he could also barely humiliate himself anymore in front of the man.

He had to force himself to dry himself.

Just as he did, his gaze drifted over to the rather large mirror.

These days he hated to look at himself.

He had never been what people considered conventionally pretty. He had known that. But he had managed to strike a somewhat good figure for a while, as he had put some importance on his looks, and his clothes.

Ever since he had failed… He was fat. His hair was long and badly maintained – because he did not let Lash take care of it – and right now his beard looked like a fucking mess as well.

It did not matter.

It should not matter.

But he hated to see himself like this. A miserable loser. Just like he had always been, right?

A bastard of a cobbler boy.

He stumbled over to the shelf, needing a moment to find what he was looking for. His shaving kit.

He looked at the blade, at the brush. It was a blade, of course. And it could be so easy. He assumed at least it could be easy.

After all, he had killed others before. He knew what killed a person. Slitting the throat usually worked.

He knew that among shunned nobility, it was a usual way to end things, by slitting ones wrists. But he also knew that slitting the wrists was actually a rather bad way to do it. There was a good chance that the bleeding would stop – or would be too slow.

And while there was a rather large artery in the stomach, it was hard to open it oneself.

The thighs might work. But the throat? Well, it was the easiest way.

He chuckled bitterly, because he knew that one way or another, he would be too much of a coward. If he wasn’t, he would have ended it months ago.

No. He would just go ahead and actually shave. Foam up the soap, put it on, and shave. He normally did not do it himself, but he had learned to do it. After all, he had always had a fairly thick beard.

He was a coward.

And because of it, he foamed up the soap, and did just that. Or wanted to, as there was another knock on the door.

He growled. “I really do not need any help, Avariel.”

“I just noticed… You did not take fresh clothes,” the man answered from the other side of the door.

As Enver had noticed himself. Fuck. He grunted. “Fine.”

There was a pause, but it seemed that the other man then decided it was alright. He opened the door to come in. He did not look at Enver at first, just putting down the fresh clothes. But just as he was turning to go, he noticed Enver in front of the mirror.

“Do you need help with that?”

“What? So you can slit my throat?” Enver grumbled.

“Come now. If I wanted you dead, you would be dead. And you know this.”

Of course Enver knew it. He only was alive, because this asshole had decided he would live. For that reason and no other. Ha. In some way killing himself would actually be proper spite, wouldn’t it? That would show this asshole.

It would be easy. He just needed to properly sever the arteries in his neck. He had slit other people’s throat before. And yet…

He turned to give the blade to Avariel. “Why are you so intent on humiliating yourself?”

“I do not think it is humiliating to help someone who needs that help,” the man simply said, taking the razor.

He came closer, standing behind Enver.

If only the man had the guts to kill him. If only…

With a silent gesture, the man directed Enver to put his head in the neck, before he got another towel and started shaving him. He was doing this surprisingly easily, though Enver guessed it was no big surprise. From all he knew the man had no servants, and his own beard was always rather well coifed.

And of course he did not try to cut Enver’s throat. Because of course the man would never do something like that, would he?

Enver noticed the man’s gaze. Even now had this soft expression. And he could just not make sense out of it.

Bit by bit the overgrown beard slowly was removed, making Enver hate once more, that it actually felt better. His face no longer felt quite as itchy as it had before.

When he was done, the man smiled. “See? It is better now, isn’t it?”

“It does not make a difference,” Enver grumbled. He would not admit to it at the very least.

“It doesn’t?”

“Why would it? It is not as if anyone is ever going to see me again, is it?”

“Well, but it still feels better, right?” Avariel replied. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Why would you care?”

A deep sigh. “Do I really need to repeat myself over and over? I mean, you are not going to believe me either way.”

“At least about that you are right,” Enver grumbled.

Avariel looked at him. “I could cut your hair as well, you know?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I do know, that once upon a time you cared quite a lot about your looks. And I imagine that right now you actually do feel fairly miserable.”

Enver caught himself before repeating the same question. This was all so darn stupid.

Maybe that was the man’s plan all along. Slowly break down Enver’s pride. Humiliate him through this stupid behavior. And then… Maybe he had figured that it was the only way to make Enver suffer. Because if that was the plan, well, it was working fucking great.

Enver looked at his reflection in the still somewhat fogged-up mirror.

He had always hated, how his hair when it grew out would fall into a somewhat curly pattern. It was a hassle, as those curls would also eventually tangle up. It looked horrible.

“Fine,” he muttered. Because frankly, how much more humiliated could he get?

And again the stupid idiot of a man just smiled. He had clearly already a good idea where the scissors were, as he found them quickly.

“I get that to you right now everything must feel hopeless,” he muttered, as he started to brush Enver’s hair as well. “I wish… I wish you could see, that even if you had succeeded, you still would be miserable.”

Enver could not help a dry scoff. “And what makes you think so?”

“Because people who succeed amassing so much power, usually spent the rest of their days in fear that someone will take that power from them.”

“Oh, and you know that why?”

The man just shrugged. “I met more than one of those people,” he said.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” The man started with a strand of the hair now. He was being methodical about it, too. “I am fairly sure, the most powerful man in the world is mainly just concerned with who is going to take that power from him. In fact he will be so concerned with it, that he will never once enjoy it.”

“You are naïve,” Enver grunted.

“Yeah, I know you think so,” the man said. He sighed once more.

Enver grumbled. He hated too, how little reaction this asshole showed to being insulted or attacked. Fuck it. Enver had stabbed the man and the guy had barely blinked. “So tell me, what does it need to be happy according to you?”

“Friends,” the man said without a moment of thought. “Family.”

“So I was doomed from the start?” Enver spat.

“You know family does not need to be blood related, right?” Avariel just said, as he continued. “I know you had once friends. I am fairly sure that once upon a time Karlach considered you as her friend.”

More than anything Enver hated, that those words felt like a knife on his skin. “Then she was naïve as well.”

“Maybe she was,” Avariel said. “But I think…” He stopped and sighed. “I also think that getting lost too much in the ‘what ifs’ will just lead to more unhappiness.”

“You sound like the circus version of old wise woman,” Enver mocked.

Again the man shrugged. “Yeah, I get told that a lot.” He still continued cutting Enver’s hair, letting fall strand after strand onto the ground.

There was silence between them for a while – and Enver just wished it could last.

Eventually though, Avariel spoke up again. “Those scars on your back… Was that Raphael?”

Enver frowned. “That does not concern you.”

“I know,” Avariel said. “I was still wondering… You have a lot of scars.”

Of course Enver was quite aware of that. He had always scarred up rather easily – in some cases even despite the magical healing, that normally would prevent it. His back bore both scars from more than one whipping, as well as scratches he had sustained during the unfortunate affair with the Dark Urge.

But neither of those things would concern Avariel.

In the end, the man just continued with what he was doing. Another sigh came over his lips. “It looks like it hurt.”

“You think?” Enver hissed.

“Yeah,” Avariel said. “I am sorry.”

“What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Mostly just… That this happened to you. As I said. I… I get it. I get that you are angry. I get you are afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” Enver whispered.

The man just looked at him with a rather strange gaze. Then he managed a smile. “Of course you aren’t.”

Enver was silent – and was thankful that the man was so too for a while. He did not need to listen to that asshole giving his best impression of a wise old grandmother.

Though after a while, Enver himself could not help it. “You know that I hate you, right?”

“Yes,” Avariel said. “I am well aware of that.”

“So why are you doing this? Why do you come here, acting as if you actually care about me?” Enver asked, just as the man was somewhat finished.

“Because I do,” the man simply replied.

“Bullshit.”

“I know that you do believe that,” Avariel said. “Just I know that nothing I can do will probably convince you of the opposite.”

“Then why keep up this charade?”

Avariel got yet another towel to brush the cut hair away from Enver’s shoulders. “You said it yourself. I am a naïve fool.” He smiled, though this time there seemed  to be some honest sadness in that smile. “And as such, I am afraid I still cannot give up the hope, that maybe one day, you will see reason.”

“And do what?”

“Better.”

Enver frowned. “What?”

“Do better.” Avariel drew in a deep breath. Then he went over to get those fresh clothes he had brought. “You should get dressed,” he simply said. “Otherwise you will get a cold eventually.”

“And then do what?”

The man shrugged. “Join me on another game of lanceboard.”

“Just so you can lose again?”

Another of those sad smiles. “I guess.”

Enver looked at the man. He just wanted to send him away, and yet… For fuck’s sake. Things were not going to get better, were they? “Fine.”